Dead or Alive
by foolcklw
Summary: A story written BEFORE the show came out. That is: how I imagine Peter and Megan interacting on a very strange night when... Peter, weren't you supposed to be dead? T just for safety and for language.


_First BoP's story. Love this couple. I'm a huge fan of Dana since I first saw her on DH. What is strange then? Well, that I haven't seen a single episode of BoP yet. Very funny, uh? It is, indeed. I've written this before the show came out, so it could easily suck, to be honest ... But I love writing and reading reviews too much not to publish this. Therefore, here it is!_

_Enjoy and tell me whether it really sucks or not ;)  
><em>

**_A Fool_**

**DEAD OR ALIVE**

Megan pressed the tips of her fingers on the bandages. She swallowed hard and closed her eyes, while hearing someone knock on the door of her office. She tilted the head as the door, to which she was giving her back, opened.

"I said I didn't want any fucking body here!" she yelled.

Nobody answered, the door closed. Megan lowered her eyes and shut them, anger pulsing on her face. She didn't care who was there, she just didn't want to cry in front of him or her. Her lips began trembling when two hands were placed on her shoulders.

"Go away, please" she said, and even though there was the _please_, it sounded like an order.

However the man (she could feel it was a man) didn't obey. He just tried to pull her closer, but she managed to get free from his grasp. And she saw him.

She saw Peter, in front of her. Peter, with his golden beard, his morbid eyes.

Her eyebrows crushed, she took a step back and looked at him in a terrible, scared and angry way.

"Peter, you are …"

But her fingers had reached her own mouth and were now covering it, hindering her from speaking. Then, suddenly, her face grimaced and she stretched her arms to hit his chest. She pushed him away.

"You bastard!" she shouted "You son of a bitch!"

"Megan" he tried, but it was useless.

"How did you dare? How the hell did you?" she shouted, hitting his chest, punching it while he tried to grab her wrists.

She seemed a devilish creature, unstoppable, and she kept on pushing him.

"I thought you were fucking _dead_!"

He finally managed to stop her arms. They both tried to catch their breaths, even though it was hard, since they had fought like silly teenagers; she was desperate, and hurt. He looked her in the eyes, the eyes that slowly got watery, the eyes that closed to hide her pain from him. She was ashamed of it.

"Calm down, Meg. I can explain. It was to be on the safe side, if we wanted to send him down we had to do it. And we _got_ him. Now everything is okay, it's all finished. Let's go back to our routine"

She slowly shook her head.

"Get out of here. I only wanna go back home."

"I'll take you"

"Nope. I'll call a taxi."

He let her wrists go and she hurried towards the door.

"Megan …" he tried, again.

She glanced at him before stepping out, then slammed the door behind her bright red dress.

Megan emerged from the bath and reached out to grab an orange towel from a chair next to the tub. She wrapped it around her body while her feet touched the floor. The texture gently rubbed her body, as she gave a look at her reflection in the mirror and recreated the image of Peter in front of her eyes.

Alive.

Her hair fell on her shoulder and, after checking if the bandages were still there, dry somehow, she put on a singlet and a pair of pants. Then she headed to the kitchen to have a glass of water, but almost had an heart attack when she saw there was a man in her living room, sitting on her chair, staring at the ceiling.

"You must be crazy!" she snapped.

Peter shrugged.

"I thought the same thing when I found your front door open. You must be crazy, Meg."

She moistened her lips, crossing her arms on her chest.

"I just forgot to close it, which is quite different from forgetting to tell someone you've only pretended to die." she retorted.

He got on his feet.

"Touché."

"Why did you come?" she asked in a low voice.

"To check your bruise out."

"My bruise is fine, many thanks."

He took some steps forward, stopping when he was a few inches far from her.

"Let me have a look, will you?" He whispered, almost begging her.

Megan held her chin up, then slowly pulled the border of her singlet up. He sighed.

"Sit on the sofa. I'll change the bandage." He stated.

She obeyed without a single word, while he went out of her sight. When he came back he was holding a first-aid kit he'd found she had no idea where. He leaned over her body and gently straightened her legs. Then he crouched near the couch, pulled her singlet up and told her to hold the piece of cloth while he began to examine the wound. He lifted up the bandages and she held her breath and closed her eyes as soon as he touched her skin.

"Does it hurt?"

She rolled her eyes.

"Of course it does, I'm not made of wood."

The bruise was near her navel. It wasn't too deep and seemed to have already started to heal. Peter cleaned the wound then, with infinite delicateness, replaced the old bandage with a new one. He caressed the texture to let it attach to her skin, then his fingers slipped upwards, lingering on her stomach.

"I'm really sorry, Meg." his eyes reached hers.

She sighed, finally touching his hand.

"You know … I'm very angry. Very angry with you."

She narrowed her eyes and he held her gaze, feeling guilty for while she was scolding him he was enjoying the sensation of her skin all around his hand.

"But I'll take it in. In a couple of days we'll be at work, cutting bodies, formulating theories, the things we normally do. We'll go back to our routine."

But he didn't remove his hand. Instead, he deepened the gaze. And she noisily inhaled some air.

"I want to kiss you, Megan." he whispered.

She flashed him a tiny, unsure smile.

"I want it too…" in a unique flux of words.

Her hand abandoned his to match his cheek. Her thumbs closed his eyes, then caressed his skin, till meeting and lightly brushing his lobs. He sighed, when she reached out – trying not to pay attention to the pain the movement was causing to her navel – to place a butterfly kiss on his jaw.

"You'd better go, now" she whispered right after, in the sweetest tone.

He shut his eyes open. Still, their cheeks were in touch. He swallowed.

"Yeah, I'd better …"

He should have known that: Megan wasn't going to forgive him, not so soon at least. Furthermore, a kiss between them was quite far from being considered legal, at least by her.

They detached, and she looked uneasy, sorry, anything but calm. Peter gave her a reassuring smile, then looked down at his fingers, still pressed on her bandage.

"… but I don't think I will."

Both their smiles dropped, just before their lips started devouring each other's.


End file.
